


Almost Real

by Forevermore_Fiction



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bowers Gang - Freeform, Derry, Fanfiction, Henry Bowers - Freeform, IT - Freeform, IT 2017 - Freeform, M/M, NSFW, Nicholas Hamilton - Freeform, Patrick Hockstetter - Freeform, Stephen King - Freeform, bowers gang fanfiction, butch bowers - Freeform, derry maine, henry bowers x patrick hockstetter, maine, owen teague - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 15:20:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20602976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forevermore_Fiction/pseuds/Forevermore_Fiction
Summary: (Henry Bowers x Patrick Hockstetter)A/N: Okay, so @logelocktte asked “Can you write a fanfic involving Patrick x Henry? Could be NSFW or SFW… maybe a bit disturbing even~” and almost three days later, I have it for you! It’s definitely NSFW, and pretty dark/disturbing in my opinion, so hopefully it’s what you were looking for, friend!Word Count: 4,380Rating: NSFWWarnings: mention of physical abuse, emotional abuse, Patrick Hockstetter, possessive behavior, mental torture kind of, mention of Patrick experimenting and dissecting things, delusional thinking, derogatory slurs, dub-con, crying, oral sex, biting, choking, knifeplay, bloodplay, masochism, sadism, crying during sex, sex while parents are home





	Almost Real

Henry had been staring into space for the last hour or so, picking at the fraying hem of the blanket underneath him without saying a word.**  
**

Patrick moved around a lot during that time, waiting patiently, then impatiently for his friend to speak to him. He started at the desk next to the bed, then he moved next to him on the bed, just for a minute to see if he’d even acknowledge him. When that didn’t work, he got up and went to the bathroom, relieving himself quickly, then to the kitchen to make himself something to eat. If Henry was in such a mood that he came to him and then acted like he wasn’t there, he didn’t want to waste his time on him. Not yet.

The shorter boy had come knocking at his door around ten o’clock, and when Patrick had opened the door, he had had a look of shock and fear on his face that Patrick had never seen on him before. He had quickly let him in, noticing the bruises on his arms, the purple-bruised and swollen nose, the large, wet patch on the front of his jeans, the ripped, slightly bloody gash in his shirt, right near his collarbone above his heart.

He had tried to talk to him, asked him what the fuck happened, and was he okay. He had brought him to his room and Henry had just sat on his bed and hadn’t moved for an hour. Now, Patrick stood in the doorway, eating his sandwich slowly and watching him.

Henry stared down at his own fingers, at the scabbed knuckles and the short, dirty finger nails. He played absentmindedly with the loose pieces of thread coming off of Patrick’s blanket, trying desperately to get his mind and his heart back on the same track.

His Dad had gone all out tonight. He had just been sitting in his room, minding his own business, when his door had been slammed open and Butch had glared down at him, screaming something unintelligible. Then he had grabbed his son by the shirt and by the hair, and had dragged him out to the living room, starting to kick him until he was forced to kneel down onto the floor. Henry had been able to block the kicks to his face with his arms for a little while, but has lowered them slightly to block his chest more and Butch had taken the opening to slam his boot against the boys nose. Henry had tried to crawl away, sobbing, but Butch had grabbed him and dragged him back, clumsily grabbing a kitchen knife off of the counter above them and holding it to where he assumed Henry’s heart would be. It was a bit too high, the metal tearing through the shirt and cutting his skin around his shoulder and collar bone, but it caused Henry to cry out anyway, and he felt his bladder let itself go and soak the front of his pants. His Dad was trying to kill him! He was going to–

Then, as quickly as it had began, Butch had dropped the knife and had stood up straight, stumbling away towards his room. Henry had lay on the floor in terror for a moment, waiting, listening. When he had heard his Dad snoring, he had gotten up quickly, setting the knife back on the counter and hurrying towards the front door, barely getting his shoes on before he raced out the door.

He had found himself at Patrick’s house. Belch’s was too far away, and Vic’s parents got crabby when anyone knocked on the door after dark. And when he knocked Patrick had answered within a minute, and had looked him up and down in surprise.

“Fuck, what happened?” the taller boy asked. Henry just stared blankly at him, his eyes falling somewhere on his chest and not blinking. “You okay?” When there was no answer, he brought him into his house, and into his room, and waited.

Henry let out a shaky breath and he heard Patrick set his plate down and walk over. “You feeling okay?” his friend asked.

Henry hesitated. “I-I…” he started, his voice hoarse. He shook his head. Patrick sighed and touched his shoulder.

“Come on, you can use my shower…” he told him, waiting for his friend to stand. “But don’t take too long, my parents are sleeping.”

Henry went off to use his shower, and Patrick went to his dresser to find some clothes for his friend to wear. Then he hesitated, a thought popping into his head. What would cheer Henry up? What would cheer _him_ up? He grinned a bit and stashed the clothes back into his dresser, and pulled his own shirt off, tossing it on the chair across the room. He heard the shower turn off, and he waited, sitting down, then laying in his bed. Henry came back in soon enough, a towel wrapped around his waist and the rest of his body dripping wet.

Naturally, he had assumed Patrick would lend him some clothes, and hadn’t changed back into his own. Not that he would, with the piss staining his boxers and jeans. Patrick had him right where he wanted him.

He stared at the cut on Henry’s shoulder and collarbone, and stood up carefully, walking over to him. “It’s still bleeding,” he pointed out curiously, running his finger along it the collect blood. Henry winced. “He cut you pretty deep, huh?”

Henry didn’t say anything for a minute, then gulped. “I thought he was gonna kill me…” he said quietly, not looking at him. Patrick stared at him, then pulled him into the room, shutting the door. “Can I borrow something to wear…?”

“No,” he said, tugging at the towel around his waist, Henry quickly held onto it and glared at him.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” he snapped. “Just give me something to wear, dude.”

“Henry, come lay down,” Patrick insisted, walking over to his bed and laying down again. Henry stared at him in annoyance, then sighed and walked over, sitting on the bed next to him.

“I don’t want you to do any of that gay shit with me,” he mumbled.

“It’s not gay if it’s me, Henry,” Patrick laughed. “What if it makes you feel better?”

“I’m not gay,” he pressed. “Put your hands on me and you’ll lose’em.”

“Just think of it as a little help. You don’t gotta think about it like it’s me doin’ it,” he explained. “Just don’t think of me as a guy. Think of it like I’m just a hand or a mouth helping you out.”

“What the fuck, why are you talking like this is even going to happen?! Go fuck yourself, fag, and give me something to wear,” Henry snapped.

Patrick sighed and rolled over slightly, touching the side of his friend’s neck and bringing his mouth to the cut above his heart, licking up the dripping blood slightly. Henry shoved him off, looking shocked, but not saying anything. Patrick smirked a bit and got up before Henry could get ahold of himself, pulling his belt off through the loops. “I promise this isn’t gay…” he told him, kneeling back on the bed. “And it’s not like anything that happens will leave this room.” He crawled closer to him and ripped the towel off of his friend, who only moved to quickly try and cover himself. Patrick grinned a little, seeing that Henry wasn’t going to fight him as much as he thought he was.

“Dude, this isn’t funny…” he said, watching his towel get thrown across the room.

“You need help–”

“I need help?” Henry cut him off. Patrick grabbed his wet hair and pulled him to kiss him roughly, biting his lip. Henry smacked him hard and he moved back. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“Then do it. But you came here for my help, so I’m trying to help,” he told him. “This isn’t about love Henry. This is about sex. This is about taking, and working out your anger. On me.” He reached down while Henry was distracted by glaring at him, and grabbed his cock, smirking wickedly when he felt that it was already half hard. “Don’t you want control?”

Henry didn’t quite know what to do. If his Dad ever found out about any of this, he would wish he was dead. And he wasn’t gay, and this was definitely gay… but Patrick was right that it wasn’t about love, all he wanted was the sex of it, the taking. He winced as Patrick started stroking him, realizing that he _did_ want it, as much as he didn’t want to want it. He knew Patrick was only playing with him (literally and in his head). He didn’t care about making him feel better, not really. He was just playing one of his stupid, perverted games.

Patrick grinned a bit as he watched Henry’s eyes close tightly. “T-This is about me. I get to tell you what to do,” Henry growled at him. “You do _whatever_ I say.”

“Fine,” Patrick agreed. He wanted that anyway. He wanted Henry to hurt him. If only he had his knife on him, so he could make Patrick bleed like he was. “Tell me what to do, then.”

“Go a little faster,” he mumbled, letting his head fall back against the wall. Patrick complied, moving so that he was seated side by side with Henry, and rubbing his hand up and down his friend’s length at a quicker pace, his grip tight. He could see that Henry was gripping his sheets, and that his hips were bucking a bit. He let out a shaky groan and bit his lip. “Fuck…”

“Can I touch myself?” Patrick asked, using his free hand to grind his palm against the erection in his own jeans.

“Fuck you… t-this ain’t some orgie,” he growled at him. Then his eyes opened and he grabbed Patrick’s wrist, stopping him and staring down at his own flushed cock.

“What are you doing?”

“I want you to stop. I’m not some queer. I ain’t into this fag shit,” he spat at him, trying to pull Patrick off of him. Patrick didn’t let go. “Whatever, it feels good, but you ain’t a chick, this is fucking–”

“Pretend I’m a chick then. Don’t fucking think about it Henry,” Patrick pressed. His friend looked over at him, conflicted confusion in his blue eyes. He just stared at him. “Don’t think about anything. I can see it, I get it. Let it out. If it feels good, if you want it, fucking do it. Tear me apart until I’m crying, until I can’t move, until I can’t breathe. Do whatever the fuck you want. No one can tell you not to. Just don’t fucking think.”

Patrick knew exactly what he was doing. He knew people. He knew _Henry_. There was a darkness inside of him that he didn’t know about. These things around him were so easy to read, to dissect. It was so exciting to figure out every inner working of the puzzle of the world, _his_ world. People and animals and insects were all just toys for him to play with. Henry was just a toy. His favorite toy. And he loved to dissect his toys.

He knew that Henry was almost as real as him, he could feel it. He could taste it and hear it buzzing in his ears, he could hear the crackling rage that radiated off of the boy. His mind was like a tangle of thorned vines, choking him and hurting him and destroying him. But Henry had something in his eyes that no one else seemed to see. Patrick knew that underneath the anger, underneath the toughness, he could find the real Henry. And as he encouraged him to not think, to just do, he saw his pupils dilate, and felt his pulse start hammering against his hand where Henry held his wrist. He was going to see him, _finally_. And the almost-real Henry would _destroy_ him.

Henry let go of his wrist and grabbed his hair instead, shoving his head down towards his throbbing cock. Patrick’s grin widened, and he tried to hold in his giggle of delight. He held his friend’s length straight and opened his mouth a bit, letting the his flattened tongue lick at the head before moving down and closing his lips around him, sucking hard. He heard Henry suck in a breath and growl in his throat, and felt the hand in his hair tighten it’s grip. He opened his mouth a little wider to start taking more of the cock into his mouth, and was pleasantly shocked to feel his head get shoved down onto it quickly, the head hitting the back of his throat and making him choke and sputter. Henry kept him down, not letting him breath, and started bucking his hips up, seeming to go faster with every gagging noise Patrick made.

Patrick couldn’t breathe well, and it made his eyes roll back a bit and his cock twitch in his pants. Henry finally yanked his head up and he gasped loudly for air, coughing a bit but continuing to jerk his friend off, using his own spit as lubrication for his hands. He was shocked to feel his body get shoved back, then felt Henry climb over him and grab his throat, squeezing. “You’re a slut, Patrick,” Henry growled at him. “You’re just a fag piece of garbage, and I’m gonna make you wish you’d kept your hands to yourself.”

One of Henry’s hands let go of his throat and he saw his fist cock back before it punched him in the face once, twice, and again, until his ears were ringing and his vision was starting to blur. He could feel blood spilling out of his nose and into his hair. It was incredible, it was all so _surreal_.

Then, suddenly, Henry was moving off of him and out of the room. He thought maybe the boy had snapped out of it, and was going to leave, but he stepped back into Patrick’s bedroom with his clothes in his hand. He dropped them and stalked back over to the bed, as Patrick watched him. He heard the sound of Henry’s knife being snapped open, and he saw the flash of silver as the blade popped out. He shivered, watching Henry get back on the bed and grab the waistband of his pants.

“You want this so badly… you _freak_?” Henry spat at him, yanking his pants down his hips a bit. Patrick bit his lips, watching Henry unbutton and unzip his jeans before yanking them down all the way and throwing them aside. His boxers were quick to follow. “You want me to take you so bad?”

Patrick gasped, feeling the cold metal, then the burning of the blade cutting into his skin. He tried to keep himself still, grabbing his own hair and looking down at Henry as he cut into the skin of his pelvis. The blade pierced his skin again, and he struggled to hold back a moan, seeing Henry do something so crude with such delicacy. He watched in delight as Henry carved the letters of his name into his hip, unaware that in a year or so he would get a jolt of excitement from watching his friend start to carve the same letters into the belly of Ben Hanscom. But then again, Henry would only get to write an **H** on the fat little boy. For now, he could only focus on the fact that Henry was trying to claim a new possession– _him_. He got to write all for five letters of **HENRY** onto his flesh.

He heard the knife close and he groaned a bit, feeling Henry’s hot tongue lap up the blood on his skin. “Ugh… Henry…” he pleaded without knowing what he was asking for. Henry looked up at him, and he could see the blood all around his lips, on his tongue, staining his teeth. Like an animal, he thought… except with this animal, he was the one being physically broken, not the one breaking it.

Henry crawled up over him and crashed their lips together, and Patrick cried out as his lip was bitten hard enough that the skin broke, and he licked desperately at his own blood already in Henry’s mouth. “Gonna tear you apart…” Henry mumbled into his mouth. “Gonna…”

He yanked Patrick’s head back by his hair and bit down into his neck. Patrick yelped and closed his eyes tightly. “Fuck!” he whined, feeling Henry suck on the bleeding bite then bite down again quickly. He moved down a bit, biting at his collarbone and giving it the same treatment. Patrick’s hands were on the back of Henry’s neck, and on his shoulder now, his short nails doing a poor job of scratching his skin, but trying desperately to claw at them all the same. Henry’s cock was rubbing so tauntingly against his own while he bit him and sucked bruises into his skin, and he bucked his hips up a bit to try and get some friction. Henry groaned and pressed himself harder against Patrick, grinding down on him. He brought his head up and his hand started squeezing Patrick’s throat again, just under his Adam’s apple.

“H-Henry,” Patrick wheezed, feeling his body starting to shake and struggle of it’s own accord from the lack of air. Henry’s free hand reached down between them and squeezed his balls with almost the same strength, and as much of a cry as he could choke out escaped his bleeding lips.

“You gonna come, slut? You little freak, you like to bleed?” Henry sneered. Patrick nodded weakly as Henry let go of his throat for just a moment to let him gasp for air. He could practically feel a hand-shaped bruise forming around his throat, and then just felt the hand around him again and he choked once more. The hand on his balls let go and he heard Henry’s knife click open again, and he bucked up against him again.

He wiggled with excitement as the knife sliced dangerously under his prominent ribs, the thin skin making it so possible to stab through into his air-deprived lung, and more words were carved in. He felt the knife letter out **FREAK** across his skin, and then Henry brought it back, letting his throat go again just as his vision was starting to blacken. His tongue licked up the blood here, as well, and Henry peered up at him.

“Want some more, _freak_?” he taunted.

“P-Please… more, Henry,” he croaked breathlessly.

“I’m going to cut everything you are into you, so that everyone who ever sees you knows that you’re a freak!” He winced suddenly, and his hips ground down against his harshly. “You’re _mine_, that’s why you’ll always wear my name now! You_ slut_!”

He sound so angry, so unhinged and Patrick drooled helplessly as their cocks slid together and Henry’s hand closed around his throat again. The blade pierced his skin again, in the exact spot where Henry’s father had cut him but now on Patrick’s body, below his collarbone, right above his heart, and Henry started the curves of an **S**, the angle of a **L**, the bend of a **U**… Patrick realized that Henry was carving **SLUT **into him and he let out a sob, his pulse pounding in his ears and his hips thrusting wildly so that their cocks rubbed so deliciously together as Henry carved the cross of the **T** into his chest.

“Henry…” he moaned, tears spilling down his face. “Fuck, Henry, I need to cum…”

“You wanted this! You wanted me to break you!” he shouted at him. Patrick couldn’t care less if his parents woke up from the noise, all he cared was that Henry was falling apart even more than Patrick, tears falling from his eyes onto Patrick’s face without Henry having any idea he was even crying. The salt stung Patrick’s bitten lip, but he stared up at him. “You’re useless, you fucking piece of shit, you should never have been born, you worthless–”

Patrick realized that Henry was parroting his father at him, and felt his hand completely restrict the airflow in his throat. “You’ll never be anything, you’ll never make it out of this town, no one will ever love you, and one day, I’ll kill you, and no one with ever fucking care, and if I can’t, I hope you do this world a favor and kill yourself, you bastard!” he cried at him until his throat cracked, tears pouring onto Patrick’s face. Patrick felt his hand let up again as Henry sobbed loudly for a moment.

He would never understand how Henry’s dad could hate him so much. How could anyone hate something so complex and destroyed. Of course, Butch Bowers had been the one to destroy him, so Patrick supposed he had him to thank for such a beautiful, warped little toy. Oh, how fun and orgasmic to have this twisted boy above him, thinking he was tearing apart the boy below him, thinking he had all the control and all the power and all the say, and really being a lab rat, trapped in his own little self-made mind prison. It made Patrick nearly cum just thinking how fucking awesome it was to watch him tear _himself_ apart instead. So delicious to hear him drive himself insane with rage and guilt and self-pity and confusion.

Henry was so dead set on not being gay, and Patrick didn’t really care about it in that way. Who cared what parts the toy had, as long as it could suck his cock and make him bleed all at once? But he_ did _enjoy the torment it caused Henry. Henry wanted so badly to hate this, but with every slide of their hips, his cock twitched and his brain told him it felt so _fucking_ good. Patrick could tell. He could see it in his crazed eyes. It added to the pleasure of breaking this animal apart, it could easily be the breaking point of his entire experiment.

Henry loomed over him again, his eyes bloodshot from tears and his bloody teeth bared. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you,” he told him. That sent Patrick over the edge, with Henry’s hand squeezing his throat and his name on his hip. His balls drew up and he came all over his stomach with a choked groan, his short nails managing to barely scratch Henry’s shoulders. Henry saw his friend cum and looked both disgusted and intrigued, his own cock twitching and leaking pre-cum. Patrick forced himself to keep himself alert, and sat up suddenly, _needing_just a little control to make this end perfectly. He pushed Henry back, prying to hand from his throat and grinning down at him.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he told him. Henry looked a little confused. “For a dude.” He moved so that he could go down on him again, the cum on his stomach and the blood from his chest and hip smearing across his sheets. Henry groaned and let Patrick suck him off roughly and Patrick could see it in his eyes: _For a dude_… Patrick had reminded him that he had just made another male cum, and that he was about to have an orgasm because a man was sucking him off. And he did orgasm, seconds later. His head fell back and he cried out, and his whole body shuddered and Patrick choked a bit as he felt cum hit the back of this throat and pool on his tongue. He swallowed it without thought and moved off of him slowly and sat back against the wall, panting. Henry stared wide eyes at him, probably having little recollection already of what had just happened.

“Come here, Henry…”

The boy sat up slowly, moving carefully over to him and feeling himself being pulled into Patrick’s arms, their naked bodies pressed together. He was so confused. That had felt so good… but Patrick was a boy… he had hurt Patrick, cut him, make him bleed, strangled him within an inch of his life, and yet Patrick was the one who seemed the most alive. Henry felt… scared, vulnerable, lost. He hated that feeling, but he wasn’t angry about it. The vulnerability and fear just brought more fear. He held onto Patrick, looking up at him for answers. Patrick just grinned at him knowingly.

“D-Don’t ever tell anyone about this,” was all Henry could think to say. Patrick brought his thumb to his bottom lip and pulled it down a bit.

“This’ll be our little secret,” he whispered back. Henry shivered, and Patrick watched his eyes droop shut and his head fall against him in exhaustion. Patrick licked his lips, moving so that he could lay his unconscious friend down and watch him sleep.

Patrick got up and pulled the sheet off of his bed, tossing it into his mountain of dirty laundry. He went to the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth, wetting it and washing him, then going to his room and washing Henry off. Then he went to his dresser, grabbing two pairs of pajama pants, then going to Henry and pulling one pair onto him. He watched him still as he pulled the other pair onto himself, enjoying the silent afterglow of his orgasm, and the stinging of the cuts on his skin.

In the morning, Henry wouldn’t remember a thing. The only thing that would clue him in to what had taken place would be the words cut into Patrick’s skin. His name, cut into Patrick’s skin.

But it didn’t matter what happened to Henry tomorrow, when he woke up and saw the cuts. He wasn’t real. But he was such a fun toy, that Patrick granted him the title of being almost real. And his.How cute, he thought, that Henry had had the silly idea in his head that he was making Patrick _his_, when the whole time it had been the other way around. Henry belonged to Patrick now. His heart, his soul. He had seen parts of his mind that no one else would ever see. And he had broken, just for a moment, just for him.


End file.
